Plan B (Best Laid Plans #2) - Jana Aston Page 0,9

going to make a pretense of pulling out her phone to look for something that doesn't exist. My nerves are shot, my adrenaline is waning and all I want to do is go back to my room and take a pre-bedtime nap. Why does this have to be so difficult?

The woman exhales as if I'm really trying her patience now. I worry she's about to wave the security guys over when she drops her gaze to my clutch and back to my face in what I can only decipher as a flat-out challenge. "He just arrived a few minutes ago. Why don't you call and ask him to come back and escort you inside?"

Right. That would make sense, wouldn't it? I nod as I slip my cell from the clutch while my thoughts race. He's here. He's really here, she just confirmed as much, didn't she? God, I'm so close. I just need to get past this door troll, find Kyle and be done with this. The snooty blonde waves the person behind me forward while I stand awkwardly hitting buttons on my cell phone pretending to make a call. She seems to know this woman and skips the entire pretense of asking for her name to instead gush about the woman's recent engagement. She's cooing over the ring and asking if they've set a date. The girl is beaming and waving her hands around while going on about how romantic the proposal was. Gross. She's probably engaged to someone who doesn't borrow money from her and I'm not jealous at all.

"He's not answering," I interrupt, hoping to capitalize on her interest in this other guest and earn a free pass inside. "He's probably accidentally turned the ringer off, you know how it is."

"I don't." She shakes her head with an apologetic smile that doesn't ring true in the least.

We stare at each other in challenge as engagement girl heads into the party.

"Is there a problem here?" Now another of the ladies working the event has slid over and is glancing between us, brows raised. Her tag identifies her as Maureen. I get the impression that she's in charge by the way Margo straightens and rearranges her resting bitch face.

"She's with Kyle but she's not on the list. And she doesn't have an invitation." Margo shrugs before adding, "And she can't seem to get hold of him," in a tone that implies I smother kittens in my spare time. I make a mental note to add the name Margo to the list of names I am never, not ever, using for this baby.

"You're with Kyle?"

"I'm his—" I cut myself off. Do not say baby momma, do not, do not, do not, I chant silently in my head. "Fiancée," I blurt out instead.

Oh, my God.

That's worse. That's way, way worse than baby momma. Why did I say that? What is wrong with me? I've gone mental. Engagement chitchat and hormones have rendered me temporarily insane.

"You're engaged to Kyle Kingston?" Snooty blonde's tone is dripping with disbelief now.

"Yes," I volley back because honestly, I'm in too deep. I want to turn and run, but I'm frozen to the spot. What am I supposed to do now? Admit I'd been searching for an appropriate label when the word “fiancée” just vomited itself out of my mouth?

Beside me, there's a soft laugh. Masculine and accompanied by the sensation of someone standing just a little too close. I turn my head, preparing to deal with the interloper, when he surprises me by smiling. A big, white-toothed, disarming smile.

"Wyatt Kingston," he says, extending a hand. "Cousin of your betrothed," he adds when I slip my hand into his.

I flush, both from the gargantuan lie and the attention of this very attractive man. There's a slight family resemblance to Kyle, something in the jawline and the shape of his eyes, but Wyatt is light where Kyle is dark. Blond hair, where Kyle's is a rich brown similar to my own. The style tousled, where Kyle's is too well trimmed to be in any disarray.

"Daisy Hayden," I respond, my hand still in his. He can't be terribly close to Kyle if he's believing this fiancée farce, but I think he's my ticket inside so I'll go with it.

"Allow me to accompany you inside," he says, amused grin firmly in place as he places a hand on the small of my back, turning me toward the door.

"She doesn't have a ticket." Margo glares at Wyatt, something passing between them.

"Now’s